


I'm always in the corner of your mind

by PseudAnon



Series: The truth you find won't take you far [2]
Category: Young Justice (Cartoon)
Genre: (badly), Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, Coping, Death, Depression, Dreams, Father-Son Relationship, Five Stages of Grief, Gen, Grief/Mourning, Guilt, Heavy Angst, Hurt No Comfort, Loss, Post-Loss, Unhealthy Coping Mechanisms, no happy ending, some violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-25
Updated: 2019-06-25
Packaged: 2020-05-15 20:57:03
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 13,381
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19303696
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PseudAnon/pseuds/PseudAnon
Summary: Bruce Wayne has never been the best at handling his emotions.





	I'm always in the corner of your mind

**Author's Note:**

> Part 2. This one will focus on the aftermath in general, for the League, and Bruce Wayne, or Batman. To be honest, it's mostly Batman/Bruce though.  
> Also, in case it isn't clear, the second paragraph is supposed to take place afterwards, and everything that follows is what leads up to that paragraph.
> 
> Title from 'Stream' by Last Dinosaurs

_Batman remembers going to collect his boy. The videos had played, everybody present knew exactly what had happened._

_They were all murderers._

_He turned a hallway, another one, went through a room to another hallway, continued. He walked and walked, his swift strides feeling numb on his feet._

_It wasn't long before he reached the open area of the observation deck, destruction imminent everywhere around the floor. He spotted Superboy; the Kryptonite spiderwebs had spread to his arms, pulsing an ugly, bright green under his skin. Batman looked away. His eyes came to rest on a small figure lying in the corner, against a wall._

_His breath hitched and his step faltered as he got nearer._

_His boy, lying there, stiller and more silent than he had ever been. His boy, multiple deep cuts and a shredded uniform looking out of place on his usually lively pale figure. His boy, dead and gone, killed by his useless, horrible, awful father._

_Batman fell to his knees in front of Robin, deep, shaky, hoarse gasps wracking his whole body as he reached out and gathered him into his arms, holding him close against his chest. The batarang sticking out of Robin's chest pressed uncomfortably against Batman's armour; he pulled it out carefully, blood dripping off the end staining the already red uniform. Batman put it aside._

_He buried his face into his son's hair and sobbed, breathing in the scent of familiar shampoo that would now sit and remain unused. He clutched his fist in Robin's cape, the weight pulling on him so hard it felt physical._

_The last words Dick had ever said echoed. Words begging for him to stop._

_"I'm sorry," he sobbed into his boy's hair. "I'm so sorry. I'm sorry. I'm sorry, it should have been me, I'm so sorry,"_

_He stayed there until he heard someone come to collect Superboy. Then, he stood up, his son cradled tightly in his arms, and walked back to make his way to the morgue of the Watchtower, the very thought twisting something unpleasant._

_\---_

There were several funerals held. Most had one for their civilian identities, spaced carefully apart over the course of a year to avoid suspicion. Eight civilians who looked suspiciously like eight heroes died at the same time said heroes disappeared? Too obvious.

Kaldur'ahm was first. Secret identities did not matter in Atlantis, and all the citizens already knew who he was and who he worked with. He was mourned by the whole city immediately and truthfully (enough), them having been told he was killed in an attack on the Watchtower, but nothing more than that.

Those who were normal civilians came next, nearly immediately after. Wally West and Artemis Crock, their families not having enough money or influence to successfully and un-suspiciously postpone their deaths. Wally West was killed in a car wreck, the only casualty. Artemis Crock was caught in a hold-up at a store in Gotham, unfortunately playing the role of hostage.

A few months after them, were those who’s civilian identities weren't too well-known or were secluded. Zatanna Zatara and Raquel Ervin. Zatanna, to her friends outside of hero work, was home-schooled. She could be out of contact for months and not raise any suspicion. So, she and her father had been killed in a house robbery, just as they were packing to move. Raquel was much the same. She travelled a lot, and so she didn't have many steady friends who remained in contact with her. All her direct family knew her hero identity, so they were told the same as Atlantis what happened. Officially, she had been swept up in a particularly strong rip while swimming at the beach, and drowned.

Dick Grayson would be last, as his was able to be postponed the longest. He was scheduled to die in November, after having been sent to a prestigious boarding school in the mountains where he wouldn't have any access to internet to contact his friends back home. When asked, Bruce Wayne stated at a press conference that he thought the younger generation spent way too much time on their devices and that Dick had needed a break for a year.

Dick Grayson would die just before he returned home, in a skiing accident. He landed on some sharp rocks, accounting for the jagged piercing wounds found in the autopsy.

M'gann M'orzz and Connor Kent didn't have real, official, legalised civilian identities, so their schools were told they had moved again and their funerals were strictly League ceremonies.

The League ceremonies themselves were massive. Every single hero, those in the League and those not in the League were permitted to attend, and most of them did. Another room was built in the centre of the Watchtower specifically to display the holograms of the teen heroes, and this is where the service was held, Superman at the podium speaking lowly of the achievements and successes of each of them.

The League members who had watched the security footage had put together an edited version that only showed the Team placing the cure-o-tech chips. Even then, some violence couldn't be avoided, but they avoided the worst and most unnecessary of it. Nobody said anything about how the Team had been killed, but nobody needed to.

The Justice League was suspended by Superman until further notice.

 

\---

 

A few days after he returned from the Watchtower on New Year's Eve, released from Vandal Savage's control, Bruce Wayne sat in the Batcave, his hands clenched tightly around a single batarang. Dried blood was crusted on the end, and he could not even begin to fathom the thought of wiping it off.

He stared at it until it warped in his vision, twisting oddly until it fuzzed and blurred. He felt like throwing it, but he could not; throwing it would be like throwing away part of his son, and only a terrible father would ever throw his son away.

Bruce Wayne bowed his head and the hands clenched around the batarang began to tremble.

He heard footsteps clanging on the metal steps leading up to the manor and looked up to find Alfred, his oldest and most faithful friend and father figure. Alfred said nothing, but came and stood next to Bruce, gently taking the batarang from him. Bruce was too exhausted and weak to protest, so he let him.

Alfred took his arm with care, hoisting him up from his seat.

"Come, Master Bruce," He said quietly. "You must get out of this darkness and eat something."

Bruce didn't bother protesting, though he couldn't see the point of eating at a dinner table that could seat fifty people, most of the time seated only two, and would now forever only seat one.

When he sat down and stared at the delicious looking and smelling soup Alfred had prepared, the man seated next to him and watching him aptly, the table echoed with an emptiness that dug at him and dug at him and dug at him.

Dick's presence had filled all forty-nine other seats, and all of them were empty. He couldn't bare it. He couldn't bare it.

Bruce ate a spoonful of soup, only because it was necessary for survival. It tasted like water and ash on his tongue. Alfred continued watching him, until he finished it. When the silver spoon dropped in the ceramic bowl, it echoed much too loudly.

 

\---

 

Dick was cryogenically frozen to make sure he stayed whole before November, the month he and the League had decided would be best to have him announced dead to the public in. Today, Wally West had died in a terrible car accident and in a few days Artemis Crock would get killed in a hold up in a grocery store. Soon the others would follow, but Dick would have to wait. He had only just recently been sent to his new, mountain boarding school. The press loved it, encouraging their readers and watchers to take inspiration and let their kids have breaks from technology from time-to time.

The tube that held the frozen face of Dick Grayson was in the Batcave, wiped regularly and cleaned every day. Only the best would do for Dick.

Bruce stared at the still form of his son, still in his bloody Robin uniform, the mask having been removed. Bruce couldn't bear the thought of never seeing those bright blue eyes again, even if they were only half-open and unseeing, clouded with death. Bruce stared at them and remembered, remembered how they would crinkle at the edges when he smiled, how they would dance with happiness, shine with mischief. They looked too serene in death to be real, to belong to someone as wonderful and bright as Dick Grayson.

Bruce couldn't help but notice how uncomfortable Dick looked in his tube. Death didn't suit his youthful face, and the frost along the screen had stuck to his skin, making it look worse. He carefully wiped his hand along the glass, the thin sheen of frost melting at his touch. Good. It needed to be as clear as possible, all the time.

As he turned to go back to setting up the glass display case where he would keep Dick's costume once he was out of it, he was hyper-aware of the body behind him. He felt like it was watching him, and for some reason, that relaxed him greatly. He could almost imagine it was just Dick watching him from his favourite hiding place in the rafters, waiting for the perfect moment to take him by surprise. Bruce was never surprised of course, but now he wished he had acted like it, even a little bit.

He went with this feeling, finding it calmed him. Father and son, spending time together in the Batcave, an opportunity only this particular father and son had. He could mould the echoing and empty silence of the cave into a companionable one, occasionally filled with some water dripping or bats screeching and flapping. He lost himself in his work, calmer than he had been in a while.

When he turned to call Dick to come upstairs, he was hit with reality, and a numb feeling washed over him.

Bruce climbed up to the manor alone, his breathing irregular and his hands shaking.

 

\---

 

_Bruce didn't know where he was, he just was. In front of him were the team of protégés he and the League had founded. Looking at them filled him with something he couldn't name._

_They were standing in a line, in what seemed to be a random order, observing him curiously. He saw Dick there, as Robin, observing him the same as his friends, and was filled with a grief he could not name._

_Bruce opened his mouth._

_"Don't worry, this is just a dream;" he said, as the Team looked on in interest. "When I wake up, you'll wake up too."_

_Dick smiled at him, and opened his mouth to reply._

 

Bruce woke up with a sinking feeling, and it took him a second to remember that that hadn't been real.

He turned over and went back to sleep.

 

\---

 

Bruce would go into Dick's room every day, and just observe. He would look around the room, take in the cluttered desk, the posters on the wall, the unmade bed, the dusty bookshelf. It was Dick's personal space, where he had spent most of his free time. Sitting on the bed and looking around the room made him feel things he didn't know how to identify, and yet not feel anything at all.

In his dreams, he and Dick would hang out in here sometimes. Bruce would show Dick a game he had liked in his childhood on his laptop, and Dick would laugh and tell him a thousand ways to improve it. They would stay in there for a bit, before they were outside playing basketball, or eating food together. Dick would always look happy, something he was grateful for.

Sometimes, Bruce would pass by the closed door and hear weeping coming from inside. He didn't enter whenever he did, and made sure to sit and eat dinner together with Alfred that night so neither of them would feel as lonely. It never quite filled the gaping emptiness, but it was a small comfort for both of them.

He went down into the cave more often, but never as Batman. He hadn't put on his suit since he had returned from the Watchtower that night, and he wasn't sure if he would be able to ever again. Whenever he looked at it, all he could see was a hulking figure on a camera feed looming over a cowering boy, and all he could hear were the last begs for him to stop.

Sometimes, he talked to Dick in the frozen chamber. It felt therapeutic. He would tell him about his boring day at Wayne enterprises, like he might have done if things were normal. He would imagine what Dick would say, something most likely to be funny or quippy, trying to make his day not sound as boring. He sometimes wove entire conversations in his head with Dick, about both of their days and the most recent happenings in Gotham and Dick's friends. Bruce would wipe the glass free of frost and it would go on for hours.

Alfred had to drag him back upstairs sometimes. He didn't seem to think it was healthy for Bruce to spend so much time with Dick, and even though Bruce disagreed, he let him. How could something that lessened the crushing emptiness and numbness not be healthy?

 

\---

 

_This time, the Team was chatting when Bruce found himself back where he didn't know. He couldn't hear what they were saying, but their mouths were moving and they were making wild gestures and facial expressions. Aqualad was talking intensely to Rocket, who was listening and nodding along seriously. Zatanna and Artemis were whispering to each other, sly smirks on their faces as they glanced around at their friends. Wally seemed to be happily chatting with M'gann, moving his hands so fast he was using a bit of his speed, and Robin looked to be teaching Superboy something if the slightly confused look on the clone's face was anything to go by._

_As he looked, each of them noticed him and fell silent, though not in a hostile way. The atmosphere remained light and comfortable._

_Bruce opened his mouth._

_"Don't worry, this is just a dream;" he said, drinking in the way each of the teen's faces changed in curiosity. "When I wake up, you'll wake up too."_

_Robin smiled at him and let out a pleasant laugh that he couldn't hear, and opened his mouth to reply._

Bruce woke up feeling light from the atmosphere of the dream. It took a few seconds before a weight permanently in his chest set in and pulled him back down, reality slowly coming back to him.

He turned over and went back to sleep.

 

\---

 

The cave became Bruce's home at home, because home is where Dick is and Dick is in the cave.

Sometimes he would skip work to spend all day there, calling in sick and trusting his staff to fill in for him. Alfred allowed it the first few times, but decided enough was enough after more than a month of doing it on and off.

"You don't want to use up all your leave, sir," said Alfred, a disapproving frown on his face. "You need to spend some time outside and with your work colleagues. Perhaps work will help keep your mind off things?"

Bruce sighed and agreed, though he couldn't help but think that talking to Dick was all he needed to keep his mind off things. Dick was a good conversationalist.

Work felt even more purposeless than usual, and he couldn't get the thought out of his head that the time he spent there would be better spent in the cave or in Dick's room. His boy needed company, and he needed to keep the memory of him fresh. He found that Alfred cried in Dick's room less and less these days, so he spent more time in there to make up for it. He knew Dick would appreciate it.

Bruce also cried less these days, but it was only because he had Dick to look forward to when he got home. He couldn't imagine what he'd do without the cave to turn to.

His dreams with Dick had evolved into something more akin to nightmares. They might start out happy or normal, but would always end with Dick cowering in terror as Bruce approached with his hands outstretched. Dick would plead with him to stop, but Bruce would not stop, desperate to get to his son, to be with his son, his son his son his son. Sometimes, he would be in bed after a dream, and Dick would be there, just staring at him with empty eyes, a bloody hole in his chest where a batarang glinted. Bruce couldn't move. He couldn't move. His boy needed him, but he couldn't move, paralysed to the bed. Those ones were the worst.

He always felt terrible when he woke up, and talking to Dick about it calmed him down.

_"What's the matter, Bruce? You look even more grave than usual!"_ Dick would say.

"I'm just happy that they're only dreams," Bruce admitted. He could admit anything to Dick. If he couldn't trust his son, then who could he trust?

_"Yeah, they are,"_ smiled Dick, " _And I_ _forgive you_ _for having them. You know they're silly, anyway!"_

Bruce would sob in relief, and nod. His son forgave him. Maybe he wasn't such a failure at being a father as much as he thought.

" _What are you talking about?"_ Dick asks, shocked. " _You're the coolest dad ever!! You could never fail at that, you're Batman for god's sake! There's nothing cooler than having Batman as your dad,"_

Bruce smiles tearfully, on his knees.

"Thank you," he says. "Thank you, Dick, that means so much,"

Dick would hug him, he thinks. He wraps his arms around himself, and rocks slowly on the cave floor.

 

\---

 

_When Bruce once again didn't know where he was, the Team looked very sad. He observed them as they observed him, each of them slouching uncomfortably, their shoulders hunched in grief. All of their eyes were glued to him, and all of their eyes were filled with sorrow and pity, a cutting sadness that couldn't be expressed in words. His boy looked so wrong like that. He shouldn't look like that, he was always happy, never this sad. Looking at them being sad made him feel sad, and he wanted to reassure them._

_Bruce opened his mouth._

_"Don't worry, this is just a dream;" he said desperately, each of their gazes looking on at him in complete sorrow. "When I wake up, you'll wake up too."_

_Robin continued to stare at him. He didn't open his mouth to reply, just gazed with blue eyes behind a mask that he knew so well, but never so broken._

Bruce woke up crying, and he couldn't work out why. It took him a minute or two to remember, and then the sadness he had felt began to feel sharper and emptier.

He turned over and went back to sleep.

 

\---

 

Two months after the night on the Watchtower, Bruce came up to have dinner with Alfred without prompting, pleasantly surprising Alfred. Alfred smiled as Bruce sat down, the lonely look to his face gone for the first time since.

"I'm glad you came, sir," said Alfred, sitting down across from Bruce. Bruce looked up at him, and smiled. This surprised Alfred even more, though he wasn't going to look a gift horse in the mouth. Perhaps the Master had begun to heal properly, like Alfred had been working on doing. Richard's absence in the manor was felt keenly.

"It's bad for you to spend so much time alone in that cave," he continued, noticing how Bruce looked up sharply at him. "Why not come with me tomorrow, and we can-"

"I'm not alone in there," Bruce interrupted, making Alfred cut off and raise an eyebrow. "Dick's there too, don't forget."

Alfred stared at him. Bruce went back to eating his dinner, and suddenly Alfred wasn't so glad that he had come up here on his own.

"Master Bruce," he said gently. Bruce looked up at him with a vulnerable expression, pausing in his eating. "It's true that denial is the first stage of grieving, but this is frankly ridiculous."

Bruce looked down, and something flashed in his eyes.

"Sir," Alfred continued tearfully, worry and fear raw in his voice. "This isn't good for you. You need to spend less time in that cave, I..." He took a shaky breath, and reached over to place a hand over Bruce's. "I can't lose you too, not like this..."

Bruce looked down in shame.

"I know Alfred, but-" He began, but was choked off by an emotion that broke his voice and clouded his eyes.

"I... I-I... I ccc-can’t', It's n-not..." He said hoarsely.

Alfred said nothing, just remained there with his hand over Bruce's in comfort. Bruce used his other hand to grip his head tightly as he took in shaky breaths.

"Perhaps it's better if we keep a sheet over the young master," said Alfred quietly. Bruce didn't have it in him to protest, only to nod weakly. "And keep you out of the cave for a bit."

Bruce didn't have it in him to say no, not to Alfred. Not about this.

The next day, he stayed in his room and didn't go to the cave upon Alfred's request. The loneliness ate at him.

 

\---

 

_Bruce stared at the teens in front of him, observing him passively against a generic background. He couldn't help the well of feelings he felt as he observed them and they observed him, a pang of pain. A stab of grief. But, as he stared at his son's masked face, he couldn't help it when he felt that it just wasn't fair. It was his fault, but he didn't mean it. It wasn't fair._

_He stepped forward and grabbed a hold of his son's shoulders, shaking. They felt like nothing underneath his hands. The Team watched on with mild expressions, not intervening._

_"You have to wake up!" He choked, staring down at the blank lenses where the blue eyes he loved so much should be. "When I wake up, you'd better wake up too! That's an order, Robin!"_

_Robin stared blankly through him. Bruce let go, unable to bear gripping his son's shoulders but not feeling anything. He breathed a harsh breath._

_Robin raised his arm up to salute in acknowledgement of the order._

Bruce woke up with a start, his heart racing and breathing heavy. He could feel sweat matting his hair, down his neck, soaking his back. He let out a huff.

He turned over and went back to sleep.

 

\---

 

It didn't take long for Batman to return to the streets after the week or two break he had from the cave. He ignored any feelings he got from putting on the suit, and directly ignored the sheet-covered structure tucked away at the back, instead focusing completely on the mission. He may have taken a few months of break, but crime hadn't.

He would use his tangled feelings to fuel him through the nights. Batman was born from the grief of losing his parents, and Batman would be fuelled by the fresh and raw grief of losing his son.

Of the fact that it was by his own hand that his boy lost his life.

With a growl, Batman jumped into the Batmobile and sped off into Gotham's filthy, crime infested streets.

Batman's first night back on duty had him finding criminals by the hour, and showing no mercy. Gangs were shattered, burglars were beaten up, muggers were crippled. Even petty thieves were spared no punches that night, an outlet for the Bat's unstoppable pain-driven fury. He dived into every fight without care or caution; he never mattered. The only reason he had ever had to keep himself safe was his little bird, and that reason didn't exist anymore. The Bat was alone, and the Bat was driven by a mix of grief and anger so tangled up and raw it clouded his thinking.

His first night back out lasted the entire night, from when it got dark to the crack of dawn the next day. He returned to the cave with a sizeable collection of injuries, Alfred faithfully waiting to patch him up. The cave remained silent as he did so, and Bruce went up to bed, glancing once at the sheet in the corner.

The news the next day told of Batman's recklessness after returning from a conspicuous absence. The news reporter noticed the absence of Robin, as Robin seemed to be what wound in the Bat's temper most of the time; after that, Bruce turned off the news.

The next night was a repeat of the first night, though he held back even less. When a random thug asked after Robin, he got a free ticket to Gotham General Hospital.

It didn't really make Bruce feel better, but it distracted him somewhat from the empty air at his side. Any distraction was a welcome one.

 

\---

 

_The second Bruce was there, he knew he was there again. With the Team, with Robin. Robin, Robin, Robin. This time, they stood close together and eyed him warily as he approached. He got close up to Robin, who stood uncomfortably, pressed against Kid Flash and Zatanna on either side. Bruce couldn't see his eyes under the white lenses of the domino mask, but he knew Robin was averting them. He just knew it._

_He stepped forward and grabbed a hold of his son's shoulders, shaking. They felt like nothing under his hands. The Team shared worried glances between each other, and Robin made what might have been a distressed sound if sound from anything but himself existed wherever this was._

_"You have to wake up!" Bruce demanded angrily, staring right into the white of the domino mask. Robin flinched slightly, and Bruce's heart broke. "When I wake up, you'd better wake up too! That's an order, Robin!"_

_Robin turned his head away from Bruce, and Bruce stepped back, slightly hurt. But he couldn't blame him, really. Who would want to look at a horrible monster like him, who murdered his own child?_

_Without looking at Bruce, Robin raised his arm up to salute in acknowledgement of the order._

Bruce woke up with a crushing guilt filling his chest. He sat and wallowed in it for a bit, knowing he deserved it.

He turned over and went back to sleep.

 

\---

 

The first Arkham breakout since the night on the Watchtower was a night that nobody in their right minds would want to be out on. News travelled fast, and Batman's entire rogue gallery had heard that Robin hadn't been seen for months. Some rogues ignored this for the moment, instead choosing to hide out and bide their time, like Poison Ivy and Penguin. Others thought this might just be the best fresh wound to poke to rile up the Bat, and struck soon after they had broken out.

Scarecrow was one of these, and Bruce was occupying his time trying to capture him before he set off enough fear gas to douse the entire city. Usually the Joker would be a higher priority, but Scarecrow was striking now, and he didn't know where the Joker was. So, Scarecrow it was, for now.

Batman burst into the warehouse he had tracked Scarecrow to, quickly diving out of the way of some shots that came at him and tossing a smoke bomb. Under the concealment this provided, Batman took out the cronies quickly but not so efficiently, bashing into them brutally and throwing them into each other and out of the way, lacking his usual finesse. He didn't look back as he kicked open the lab door, fixing a rebreather to his mouth as he did so.

Scarecrow was there, halfway through a back doorway, cackling against the wall, a group of hostages tied up and terrified in the corner.

"Oh, hello, Batman!" He greeted wickedly, waggling his fingers toward the doorway. "You just caught me as I was testing my new concoction! Want to try it out?"

Batman didn't say anything, only began approaching menacingly. Scarecrow cackled again.

"Alright then," he said, reaching into his pocket and taking out a controller of some sort.

"It's me or them, Batman," He gestured to the hostages. "And we both know you choose them, every time."

He laughed one more time before pressing the button on the controller and slipping out the door. Batman stared after him, before silently stalking over to the corner and beginning to untie the hostages. As fear gas started to seep through the air-vents, Batman passed out the rebreathers he kept in his utility belt for occasions such as this.

...Figured. He was one short.

At the terrified look on a hostage's face as he eyed the noxious gas, Batman removed the rebreather from his own mouth and gave it to him. The man shot him a thankful look. Batman just felt his disgust flare up again at this entire situation. Only someone as insane as Scarecrow would do this over and over and never get tired of it.

He finished untying the hostages, and managed to guide them out and through the warehouse before he leaped through the door Scarecrow had exited out of, already going through places in his mind where the madman would probably go. He fumbled in his belt and pulled out the fear gas antidote he always carried with him, injecting it in his arm. Though, Scarecrow had said that this was a new strain, so... well, he wasn't sure it would work.

It wasn't long before he found Scarecrow, and a fight quickly commenced. The gas didn't seem to be taking any effect, so maybe the antidote _had_ worked...

Scarecrow cackled as Batman threw a heavy punch at him, dodging sloppily but not quite all the way. He kept laughing, laughing, laughing, laughing laughing laughinglaughing it wasn't funny. He didn't really know what he did, but his vision went red and the next thing he knew, Scarecrow was in a chokehold in his hands. He wasn't laughing anymore.

Batman tightened his grip, and let out a feral growl, before raising his fist threateningly. Scarecrow made a choking noise, scrabbling desperately as Batman's fist descended. He hit hard and Scarecrow's face snapped back, blood flying. He drew back again and came on harder, hitting again and again and again until Scarecrow's face was nothing but a bloody mess.

"Hh-Heh..." Scarecrow wheezed as Batman raised his fist to hit again. "l-like myh new concoctionnn-?" He was interrupted by another punch to his nose, a crack becoming audible as the fist hit. "Ii-it dd-doeshn't realleyh p-play on tradishhhhional fearsh, the t-t-typeh that make you see m-monsters and all that classic stuff-" He was hit again, and this time thrust his head around to spit out a bloody tooth. "IiiItt-t d-digs deeperh, findsh what you _r_ - _really_ fear-" Batman raised his hand, snarling in pure fury. Scarecrow stared at him through blackened and bloodied eyes.

"I-Ih wondehr w-w-what _you_ shee, oh ggreat detectiveh?"

Batman grabbed Scarecrow's head and slammed it against the wall several times, knocking him out completely.

He stood there for a moment, a new sound filling his ears in the silence of the aftermath.

Small whimpers filled the air, and Batman instinctively turned, used to nearby children as common witnesses for his crusades.

He turned, and masked white lenses met cobalt blue.

Dick was there, of course he was. Batman's mind went fuzzy. Dick was cowering against the far wall, staring right at him. Batman's rational thought went sluggish. _It was his boy, he was there, he could hug him again and breath his scent and just hold him, just hold him and never ever let go--_

Something was strange, though. He stared at his son, taking everything in. Civilian clothes, just Dick Grayson, no barrier of Robin between them. Hair was the right length, eyes were the right colour...

It hit him, then. As he observed the tiny, irrationally tiny, form of his son, it became obvious.

Dick was shaking in fear, his eyes and face masked with pure, unhidden terror. He let out another whimper, this one sounding particularly pathetic, and flinched when Batman gently took a small step forward. Dick's petrified blue eyes bore straight into him, cutting directly to his soul.

Batman had never felt like lower, more worthless scum then he did in that moment, and he knew Scarecrow's toxin had worked exactly as intended.

 

\---

 

_He knew it immediately, as he always did, when he appeared somewhere again. The Team this time stared at him with concern; real, pure concern that he didn't deserve in all of their gazes, each of them fidgeting nervously as they looked on in worry. Kid Flash whispered something to Aqualad, still staring at Bruce, but Bruce didn't care. His eyes were drawn to Robin's awkward figure, once again, like a magnet._

_He stepped forward and grabbed a hold of his son's shoulders, shaking. They felt like nothing under his hands. Robin kept looking directly at him, frowning slightly; Bruce could just imagine the concern that filled his eyes, and it only make him more determined._

_"You have to wake up!" He practically snarled. The Team, all except Robin, collectively flinched at his hostile tone and exchanged glances before looking back at him in concern. M'gann mouthed something to him, but he couldn't hear it. Her lips moved, though._

_Are you okay?_

_He ignored her. "When I wake up, you'd better wake up too! That's an order, Robin!" He continued harshly, looking as menacing as possible._

_Robin didn't seem to hear him, instead just tilted his head slightly, before raising his arm to salute in acknowledgement of the order._

Bruce woke up feeling aggressive. He hoped the Team had gotten the message. It was a very important message. He blinked a bit- oh yeah, the Team was in no state to be receiving messages.

He turned over and went back to sleep.

 

\---

 

It didn't take him long to find the Joker, after Scarecrow. The Joker liked to wait until all the other crooks were quiet or taken care of, so he could have Batman's attention all to himself.

This time he had planted bombs in several hospitals and other important buildings, like police stations and fire stations. All the places that would help the victims of his insane plots. The Joker himself was in the City Hall, with the Mayor of Gotham as a hostage, and several other hostages from the other buildings he had bombed and rigged.

Batman passed several flaming structures, firefighters already there dousing the flames. It was too dangerous to go in and disarm any more bombs, and the Joker wasn't going to wait for long if Batman didn't come quickly. One of the buildings, he noticed, was where Jim Gordon worked. He pushed the Batmobile to go faster.

It wasn't long before he reached the City Hall. Batman parked the Batmobile outside of it and leaped out, entering the building. The hall part of the City Hall was filled with various explosives and canisters of joker venom, spread around chaotically but enough so that if it were to blow up, it would destroy all nearby buildings as well as this one, and spread Joker venom for multiple blocks further. The door leading to the mayor's office was askew, and Batman could hear the tell-tale mad cackle that belonged to the Joker drifting through the crack.

He quickly but silently made his way over to the door, risking a glance through.

The Joker's back was to him, and the clown himself was in front of a group of hostages, all blindfolded. He could see several people. The mayor, two cops he recognised, a young man, a little boy, two middle-aged women, and...

And, well, a head of flaming red hair. Hair that he had seen at his house multiple times. The last hostage was a teenage girl, specifically the daughter of Jim Gordon, Barbara Gordon. He remembered. Dick had had a crush on her for a bit, until Zatanna had come into the picture, because " _Bruce, she's way older than me, why would she want to go out with a 13-year-old-"_

He stared at her and looked back to the Joker, giggling madly and playing with a gun in his hand, the safety obviously off, humming a silly tune---

God, Bruce hated guns.

Batman burst through the door, and the Joker looked up, gun still in hand. "Batsy!" He shrieked happily, opening his arms wide. Batman took the opportunity to dive-tackle his weedy and frail body, slamming him straight against the wall.

The Joker laughed even more madly, waving his gun around. "Now now Batsy, no need to be so hasty--" Batman snarled and pulled the Joker close to his face, causing the Joker to give another high-pitched cackle. "Uh uh uh," he said, waggling one of his fingers. "If you don't listen to me Batsy, something goes boom!"

Batman lowered the fist he had raised, and instead lifted the Joker up higher and slammed him against the wall. "What do you want, Joker," he growled. The Joker's grin got wider.

"Why Bats," he said, "I've been hearing rumours that you don't have a bird anymore-" Batman's grip tightened on his shirt. "I just wanted to see if they're true," he smiled. "And it looks like they are, because I don't think I see bird boy anywhere..."

Batman couldn't help it. He knew that reactions were exactly what the Joker wanted, exactly what fuelled him, but in that moment, he couldn't help it. The Joker had killed so many innocents, destroyed so much, so many buildings, so many families, so many hearts and bodies and people who didn't deserve it. He didn't really know what he was doing in that moment, but before he knew it, he had a batarang in his hand, and it was aimed to kill.

Batman always knew that after the first kill, he would be sucked in and never come out. The second kill would be easier, and then the third, and then killing would become as easy as walking, it would be so much easier just to kill the Joker to make sure he could never hurt anyone ever again...

"I'm disappointed you didn't come and tell me in person, Batsy," the Joker continued babbling, either oblivious to the batarang in Batman's hand or not caring about it at all. "I'm his uncle J after all, and I didn't even get to say bye-bye- hey, what happened to him, anyway?" Batman's fist began to tremble in the Jokers shirt. The Joker smiled up nastily at Batman's cowled face. "Did he finally get sick of you, Batsy? Did he leave you for something else? Ooh! Is he injured? Who did it, huh? How bad is it?"

The Joker's face twisted into a wicked and cruel smirk.

"Or maybe..." he continued, staring Batman right in the eye, even through his cowl. "Maybe, bird boy's flying free up with all the other little birdies in the sky?"

Batman didn't even think. The batarang thrust downwards, cutting through the air like paper, the silver edges glinting and flashing in the dim lighting of the mayor's office...

And then the Joker's face was suddenly an even more familiar one, his purple suit red, his green hair darker, his beady, beady eyes turned into white lenses...

Suddenly, he was holding Dick again, in the exact same position he was holding him before, against a wall, though the way he was trembling was a bit different...

And he looked afraid, terrified, even.

_"Dad, NO!"_

Batman dropped the batarang.

 

\---

 

_Bruce didn't waste a second when he next appeared there. His eyes zeroed straight in on his son, standing in the middle of the line the Team always seemed to make. He rushed over, ignoring how the rest of the Team scrambled out of the way to avoid getting bowled over by his desperate dash. Robin looked at him in confusion as Bruce skidded to a halt in front of him, and grabbed his shoulders harshly and firmly. He gave one, solid shake._

_"Please son," Bruce begged. "Please wake up. When I wake up, you should wake up too. I'll do anything."_

_Robin looked at him, his gaze having turned sad. A pang of pain shot through Bruce's heart. This fuelled him however, and his demeanour turned from desperate to determined._

_"...I'll save you," he said firmly. "I'll find a way; anything is possible with the resources of the Justice League..."_

_Robin frowned at him. Bruce ignored it, muttering about all the possible ways he could resurrect someone, or time travel, or clone..._

_Robin let out a low, silent sigh._

Bruce woke up filled with determination.

This is fixable. Everything is fixable.

He turned over and went back to sleep.

 

\---

 

After the Joker got returned to Arkham in a full-body cast, Batman wasn't seen again on the streets for a while.

This is because he was hunkered up in his cave, researching like he never had before. He could do it. He knew resurrection was possible, Ra's al Ghul's very status as alive was proof enough for that, though he would never go and use a Lazurus pit. His boy would not get buried if he had anything to say about it. Especially since it was his fault in the first place. Zatanna Zatara had just been officially buried, along with her father, and he was planning to avoid any more burials.

His list of options; resurrection, which is possible, time travel, which is possible (he knows because the Flash has done it before) and cloning, which is definitely possible. Cloning was a last resort, though. It wouldn't really be his boy, just a cheap copy.

He knew several people in the Justice League had died and come back to life before. Superman had died but was brought back by being placed in a Kryptonian Regeneration Matrix; so that's out of the question for Dick. He knew that Hal Jordan had died and come back at least once as well; He would have to look into that.

Batman appeared at the Watchtower for the first time since the necessary meetings, in order to speak with Hal Jordan. None of the other Leaguers were surprised or concerned that he had gone off the radar, and none of them were surprised or concerned that he had suddenly come back on. They silently sent him sympathetic looks as he passed by, but he was otherwise undisturbed as he swept down the hallways.

It didn't take him long to find Hal. He was sitting in the cafeteria staring at the table, empty coffee cups strewn around him, his arms trembling and his fingers tangled in his hair. He looked up when Batman silently appeared in front of him, but let out a distressed moan and went back to staring at the table, his hands pulling at his hair. Batman took this as a cue to begin.

"Green Lantern," he announced, his voice gruff and raw. "It has come to my attention that-"

"Tried it." Interrupted Hal, his voice wavering. He continued to stare at the table. "Tried it tried it tried it, but they wouldn't let me. They said it was a lantern-only thing, and if I were to break it it would be an intergalactic crime of incomprehensible proportions-"

Batman stared.

"It was the only thing I could think of to fix it, to _save_ them, but it's not possible, they wouldn't let me-"

He let out a long, drawn out sigh, looking up at Batman for the first time.

"I'm so, _so_ sorry Batman, but I'm not allowed, this isn't something I can decide, and it's only reserved for the most important circumstances, like, universe-destroying threat circumstances, I really tried, but I guess..."

He let out a watery, shaky laugh.

"We just have to live with it, don't we?"

Batman swept his cape, and left.

 

\---

 

_He was getting better at not wasting time. The instant he found himself in the place the Team always seemed to be, he once again rushed straight to his son, ignoring his teammates who gave him strange looks and ducked out of the way to accommodate him. They all started silently whispering around him, but he only had eyes for the boy in front of him. Robin looked up at him, seeming a bit uncomfortable, but still curious. Or Bruce thought he looked curious, anyway._

_He grabbed Robin's shoulders and gave one, solid shake._

_"Please son," Bruce begged. "Please wake up. When I wake up, you should wake up too. I'll do anything."_

_Robin's gaze turned from more curiosity to discomfort, and he shifted in Bruce's grasp. Bruce held on tight, not willing to ever let go._

_"...I'll save you," he decided, looking at his son in what he hoped was confidence. "I'll find a way; anything is possible with the resources of the Justice League..."_

_Robin looked awkwardly away from Bruce, meeting the eyes of his Team just beyond. All of them gazed in sympathy back, but none of them moved to help._

_Robin turned to look back to Bruce, who was still looking at him in desperation._

_Robin let out a low, silent sigh._

Bruce woke up feeling a little bit guilty, and for some reason, that made him incredibly sad. He couldn't properly picture Robin's face anymore. That made him feel a bit better.

He turned over and went back to sleep.

\---

 

This was not acceptable. Time travel, next on the list. He was sure Barry would help him, as his nephew's life was also on the line here.

The Flash had been hiding out just as much as Batman had been in the past few months, left to grieve in privacy after Wally West's funeral. Batman knew he wouldn't have gone farther than his own house and work though, so that's where he decided to go and search. As Bruce Wayne of course, nobody would question Bruce Wayne going to check up on the recent discoveries and progress of science laboratories linked to his business.

So, it was Bruce Wayne who came into the head researcher's office at the forensic scientist laboratory that Barry Allan worked at. He was let in immediately, of course, and accommodated quite professionally and nicely. He requested to see Barry Allen, preferably in privacy. The secretary left to fetch him. Bruce Wayne sat down in the chair comfortably.

Soon enough, the door opened slowly, and a head of limp, straw-coloured hair poked through the crack. Bruce stared at the face. Barry looked awful, his skin was pale, his eyes were sunken and black shadows outlined them. He stepped into the room, closing the door softly behind him.

Barry sighed.

"What'd you want, Bruce?" He asked quietly.

Bruce looked around the room.

"Are the outside problems resolved?" Asked Bruce. His way of asking if there were any security cameras in the room.

"Not yet," sighed Barry. "Let's go to and see if we can sort that out."

They stepped out of the secretary's office, and Barry led him down a hallway and around a few corners before they came to stop in front of a supply storage room. "Here should be fine," He said, and they entered.

Bruce took a look around, and quickly deduced that there were indeed no security cameras. He turned to Barry.

"I need you to time travel," he said simply. No beating around the bush. "It's possible, that if we alter things enough, we can-"

Barry held up a hand. "Bruce," He said, and Bruce stopped. "I've thought about that. You don't think I've spent every day thinking about that?" He ran a tired hand through his hair. "I've thought of every possibility, every single thing we could change, and-" He choked off, burying his face in his hands. "There are way too many variables, it’s not going to be possible to save them all-"

"That doesn't matter," said Bruce fiercely. "If we can even save one of them, that would be enough,"

Barry shook his head, his voice still muffled by his hands. "Bruce," he said. "If we even save one of them, Vandal Savage wins. Every time."

Bruce stared. Barry continued.

"The Leaguer that we incapacitate to save the kid goes back and re-infects everyone else. Every time. Without fail. Or," He said, "Vandal Savage comes back and does it himself, though he's always made an upgrade to his tech which makes it incurable-"

Something slowly dawns on Brice. "...you've tried it, haven't you?" He asks quietly. "You went back?"

Barry nods in his hands, and lets out a sob.

"I did it so many times-" he chocked, "I can't do it anymore. I can't go through that anymore." He let out a gasp. "Please, Bruce, you have to understand, I tried so many times, I-I would have done something, anything, if I could have, you have to understand-"

"I understand," said Bruce quietly. "Thank you for trying."

Barry could only nod.

"I guess if they're gone," he said, sobbing softly. "They're meant to stay gone."

\---

 

_This time, Bruce didn't immediately beeline for Robin. He looked around; the Team was all staring at him in anticipation._

_He figured he must have been quite impressionable the other times he was here. He didn't really care though; he was Batman, and the Team respected Batman. Their respect was all he needed._

_He turned to Robin again, after that thought. Losing him wasn't an option._

_He strode forward, confident and sure, and stood tall in front of the small boy. Robin looked up at him, an unreadable expression on his masked face._

_He grabbed Robin's shoulders and gave one, solid shake._

_"...Please son," he began, looking Robin directly in the eye. "Please wake up. When I wake up, you should wake up too. I'll do anything."_

_Robin looked at him and smiled slightly. Bruce felt his stomach flip in... was it fear, or nervousness? ...of course it wasn't, he was absolutely confident in his ability to keep his word._

_"...I'll save you," he announced firmly. Robin stared up with him in an emotion he couldn't read.  "I'll find a way; anything is possible with the resources of the Justice League..."_

_Bruce let go of his firm grip on the boy's shoulders, and started pacing in front of him, muttering to himself. Robin eyed him, his slight smile slipping into a serious expression. He turned to the Team; all of them were looking at him in immense pity._

_Robin let out a low, silent sigh._

Bruce woke up teetering on the edge of desperation, panic almost, but quickly calmed himself down. He needed to be at his best, thinking his best, for the sake of his son.

He turned over and went back to sleep.

 

_\---_

Batman sat in the Batcave at the Batcomputer, his cowl down, typing furiously at something on the screen. Behind him, Alfred stood silently, staring with sad eyes.

"...Master Bruce," He said, taking a tentative step forward. "You must stop this ridiculous behaviour. It's simply not-"

"Cadmus did it," grunted Batman, "It's not that difficult. When you take some DNA and initiate then speed up division in the cells, it's entirely possible to create an exact genetic replica, and I have blood in storage from all of the Team that I can use-"

"Master Bruce," Alfred tried again, this time a bit more firmly. "You simply cannot-"

"I can though, Alfred!" Snarled Bruce, spinning around in his chair to face the old butler. "I can! It's well within the realm of possibility, all I need is-"

"Bruce," said Alfred dangerously. Bruce started, staring at the thunderous dark look on Alfred's face. "I have been willing to let you grieve in your own manner thus far, but this..." Alfred motioned to the endless windows open on the Batcomputer, the vials and beakers that littered the lab tables, the four untouched plates of sandwiches and two untouched meals that rested haphazardly around the cave. "You cannot live like this. I will not allow it. This has gone _much_ too far."

Bruce opened his mouth to speak, but Alfred held up a finger.

" _Hold_ your tongue, master Bruce. Before you say that cloning is the solution, and that it's entirely possible, _like you've been repeating for the past three days,_ you have not thought about the ethics of this _one bit._ " Alfred's glare deepened, and Bruce shrank back a little bit, but still managed to look defiant. "In what world, _in what world,_ would it be considered even mildly acceptable to create a _clone_ of a _dead child_ because you refuse to acknowledge the fact that nothing can be done?" Bruce opened his mouth again, but Alfred wasn't going to let him get a word in edgewise. "This is such appalling behaviour, I can't- I can't-" Alfred put a hand to his head and shook it. "I don't know where I went wrong," he said, running the fingers of his other hand through his thin, grey hair. "Is it because of me that you're _simply incapable_ of handling grief properly? Should I have raised you differently? Am I-"

"Alfred," Bruce said softly. Alfred stopped in his mumbling, looking at Bruce directly in the eye. "...It's not your fault. I know that... well, I know that..." He looked down. "...A clone is possible. But-" he continued, before Alfred could say anything. "Even if I successfully build an exact clone," he whispered, "It wouldn't have any memories," his whisper broke off into a choke of some kind.

"Oh Bruce," Alfred whispered sadly.

The old butler took his master's shaking arm, and led him smoothly out of the massive chair to the Batcomputer and up the stairs that led back up into the mansion. He sat him down gently at the massive, empty dining table, before leaving him in order to fetch a pot of black tea he had prepared earlier.

He returned with the pot to find Bruce breathing heavily into his hands. Alfred placed it down gently, before sitting down beside him and placing a comforting had on his shoulder.

Together, the two old men grieved for what had been lost.

 

\---

 

_Bruce didn't even bother checking his surroundings this time. He looked up slowly, coming to directly face the Team, who were all gazing at him in curiosity. He stared at them; but he couldn't feel anything as he drank in their youthful faces. He just felt... numb._

_He could physically feel the weight of gravity pulling on him as he tried to stand up straighter. He was Batman, he had to set a good example for his Team and his son..._

_He slowly moved his eyes across each of their faces. They were blurring; he couldn't picture them properly. Kid Flash had bright red hair, but what colour were his eyes again? He could remember Zatanna's determined face, but what about her smile? He knew Artemis had Asian features, but he couldn't remember exactly which parts. And the others... small details were missing- he wasn't sure if Aqualad or Miss Martian's skins were quite the right hue, and Rocket and Superboy both looked either too short or too tall..._

_He really couldn't tell._

_But of course, Robin stood in the middle, and he knew every detail was perfect. His son was perfect, as usual. His son would never be anything other than perfect._

_But looking at him didn't fill the emptiness he felt. It... it just seemed to make it worse. Bruce trudged forward, approaching the smallest boy of the group. As he got nearer, the Team turned away; leaving once again, him and Robin staring directly at one another._

_"...Please," Bruce whispered, eyeing the mask that covered his son's face. "Let me see you. When I wake up..." he trailed off, searching Robin's face again. "...I want to see your eyes. When you wake up as well."_

_Robin stared through him. Bruce felt like his very soul was being searched by those crystalline eyes, hidden behind white lenses._

_Robin hesitated for a second; then reached up a hand to the edge of his mask._

Bruce woke up filled with a hollow sort of anticipation, and found himself incredibly disappointed- but not surprised- when he saw the shadowed outline of his bedroom as his only company.

He turned over and went back to sleep.

 

\---

 

Bruce stopped finding a reason to go out altogether; to work or as Batman. Neither held meaning to him any longer. His company would keep producing money without him, and the criminals would keep on coming even if he stopped 100 in one night; he couldn't win. What was the point?

He stayed in bed most days, just staring at the wall of his bedroom and trying to avoid thinking about anything. Dick's... Dick's official death and funeral was coming up soon. He supposed he would have to get up for that. But that wasn't for a few weeks yet, so he still had time.

He thought about all the other people who would miss Dick. His friends at school would probably be devastated... maybe some teachers too... the school would want to hold something no doubt. Bruce Wayne's son... surely he would get angry with them if they _didn't_ hold something. Truly, he found he really didn't care.

He wondered what they would think if they knew it was his fault.

He thought of all the press this would receive, and all the sorrowful looks and quiet words he would get for months afterwards. He had never looked forward to something less in his entire life.

The door to his room opened, and Alfred peaked through.

"Sir," he said quietly. "You missed an important work call. I suggest you check the message and follow up as soon as you can."

Bruce grunted gruffly in response. He felt that if he tried to speak, his throat would close up and he wouldn't be able to control himself.

Alfred sighed, closed the door and left.

It was much later, when his hunger became painful, that Bruce left his bed and dragged himself out of his bedroom and downstairs to the dining room. A bowl of hot soup was waiting for him, and Alfred was reading the newspaper in the seat across from it. He looked over the brim of the paper as Bruce entered, but went right back to reading it when he sat down.

They sat in silence while Bruce took half-hearted sips of his soup.

Bruce found he couldn't bear the silence, even though he usually preferred it. It contributed to the toxic build-up of emotions he couldn't control.

"Alfred," he said, his voice hoarse with disuse. Alfred put his paper down and looked at Bruce. "If you could bring me that message now, I'll address it."

Alfred nodded, got up, folded his paper neatly and left the room. He came back not a second later holding a fancy business phone on a silver tray.

"Here you are, sir," he said, placing it to the side of the bowl of soup. Bruce pushed the soup aside and pulled the phone toward him, before pressing the playback button for messages. He had 46 unread messages, apparently. He really wasn't that big of a fan of checking his work phone, and combined with his recent neglect to work...

The message played, and Bruce was relieved to hear that it was just something he could get Lucius to take care of. He couldn't deal with anything else at the moment. He didn't feel like lifting his arm again, so he let the rest of the messages play through.

_*beep*_

_Hey Bruce, just wondering if..._

_*beep*_

_Mr Wayne, it has come to my attention that..._

_*beep*_

_I know you're not available right now, but..._

_*beep*_

_Please call back as soon as possible..._

This continued, the automated voice announcing the date, monotonous beeping and professional business voices lulling Bruce into a stupor. His mind drifted, and he found himself down a spiral of what-ifs, thinking of other universes where none of this ever happened, wallowing, wallowing, wallowing...

He was jerked quite suddenly out of his wallowing at another beep, followed by a date that was months, nearly a year ago. He had been overseas for a few weeks for Wayne enterprises and must have forgotten to check everything properly when he came back; that also meant he was near the end.

He blinked in shock when a familiar voice came unsurely out of the speaker.

 

_*beep*_

_...hello. Hi! How are you?_

_..._

Dick. An instant heaviness settled into his chest and he felt Alfred stiffen beside him. He found, to a horrified sort of dismay, that the voice wasn't as familiar as he had expected.

 

_..._

_...I miss you. Bye._

Bruce exhaled shakily.

"I miss you too," he whispered.

 

_*beep*_

_There are no new messages._

_\---_

_Bruce kept his eyes closed. He couldn't bear to look at what he knew was exactly in front of him, for he knew it would only deepen the cavity in his chest. He turned around._

_No, he would not look._

_He truly feared making the numbness worse. That thought strayed in his head; and before he knew it, his face began to feel hot and his throat began to feel tight. He started to breathe shakily, and he found himself blinking hot moisture out of his eyes that dripped in fat drops down his face and onto the floor. He stared at the tiny dark puddles they made on the completely white floor of wherever he was._

_It seemed destiny was not on his side, as he caught a flash of colour out of the corner of his eye and couldn't help but look up. It was the Team, of course, but their colours were blurred in a soup of swirls by the sheen of wavering water over his eyes. He could make out which splotch was which despite this, and of course, Robin was in the middle, his bright reds and yellows contrasting with his black hair and the rest of the Team quite nicely. It felt less real seeing them through a wall of blur somehow, so he didn't blink it away._

_He stumbled over to them. As he got closer, their features became clearer, but they never lost that wavering and fuzzy edge that he willingly let them have._

_The small figure of Robin in the middle looked up at him, and he made a noise, a rather pathetic noise might he add, much to his shame. In front of the Team, too._

_He stared at the boy's unclear features staring up at him. His resolve broke; he blinked, and hot tears fell from his eyes and he couldn't keep it in anymore. He stepped closer and threw his arms around Robin's small frame, pulling him close. He sunk to his knees, pulling them both down to the ground. He clutched at his boy's costume desperately. He felt small arms grasp him back, and a new wave of hot despair overcame him._

_Nuzzling his face into Dick's hair, he breathed in slowly, and tightened his arms around his boy. His son was perfect, as usual. He could never be anything other than perfect._

_"...Please," Bruce said into his son's hair, voice cracking. "Let me see you. When I wake up..." he trailed off, taking another heavy, slow breath. "...I want to see your eyes. When you wake up as well."_

_He pulled away, hoping to get his request granted. Robin looked up at him, a small smile on his face._

_He flashed a small grin at Bruce before whipping his hand up to the edge of his mask-_

Bruce woke up, his hand outstretched. It fell to his side, dead weight on the bedsheets. He felt- he felt-

He turned over and went back to sleep.

_\---_

The time had come. Today was the day that Bruce Wayne would get a hypothetical phone call from a hypothetical boarding school that his son was hypothetically going to. The preparations had been made. Dick had been removed from his frozen prison, his Robin suit stripped off and replaced with a tattered ski outfit. The suit itself now stood proudly on display in the centre of the Batcave, so it was impossible to miss from any angle. He needed to be constantly reminded of what he did- he didn't deserve ignorance. He didn't even wash it before he put it up.

He went through the procedures in his mind mechanically. Call the school. Call Selina. Arrange for an autopsy. Call the parents of Dick's friends from school. He had no doubt that at some point after doing all of that, the news would get out to the press. Then he would have to prepare to get hounded by reporters on all sides and the thousands of phone calls that would follow.

He stared at his hands.

Alfred had prepared the body to hide the signs of prolonged freezing and to make it look as if Dick had truly been killed in a ski accident, and then it was time.

Sure enough, within the day, Dick Grayson's death was all over Gotham's news sites and was a featured story on the evening headlines.

Bruce shut himself in his bedroom and had Alfred take any calls to the manor.

He had thought, that maybe the public knowing about it would make it seem more real. But, as he curled in a ball on his bed, shaking and sobbing as burning tears rolled down his face, it couldn't possibly feel more real than it did already.

Dick Grayson's funeral, 4 days later, had many more attendees than it should have. Dick's entire school was there, only some of them willingly, the rest because it was required by the school to go. Bruce Wayne was their biggest fundraiser, after all. Dozens of representatives from various press and media outlets were there, all discreetly trying to get an interview with the father. Majority of Haley's circus had even managed to come, paying their respects to the final member of the Flying Graysons. Mr Haley made a speech, telling of Dick's younger days in the circus and how the Flying Graysons was the best act they had ever had. The Principal of Gotham Academy made a speech, saying how Dick was one of the brightest students to ever have been at the school, and announcing that a new scholarship had been created in his name. Barbara Gordon, one of Dick's truest and closest friends, attempted to make a speech, but burst into tears the second she opened her mouth to start and had to be led away, sobbing, by her father. This was the second friend she had lost in the span of a year.

Bruce didn't have to pretend. As he climbed the steps leading to the podium, the reality of the situation hit him. The numbness faded from his mind, and when he reached the top, he stared at the faces around him.

Tear streaked, stony and grave expressions. Not a single smile, something never befitting of an event for Dick Grayson. Everything felt muted, and yet so profound at the same time. The fact swirled around in his head.

This was a speech for a funeral.

Bruce grasped the edges of the podium with shaking hands, opening his mouth to start his speech, but nothing came out.

 

\---

 

_Bruce found himself staring directly at the Team. His heart twinged at the sight of them, but he settled for observation anyway. He watched them; and yet, he couldn't really notice anything distinctive. They were all as he had always seen them- teenagers that just happened to have metahuman abilities and extraordinary talent. The bravest, most heroic people he had ever known. Even better than him- though that was not hard, as he could never call himself a hero rightfully again._

_He took a deep breath. Inhale, exhale. He had to get his wavering emotions under control. He couldn't help it, however, as a wave of heat crashed over him the longer he stared at them._

_He made his way over to them heavily, ignoring the fuzziness that overcame him and the way he could feel tears pricking at his eyes again._

_He approached Robin again, of course, just as he always did. Robin turned to look at him again, just as he always did. And Bruce found himself completely letting his emotional walls collapse in a way they never really had before, symptoms of constant repression. As he always did._

_Bruce stared into the white lenses, trying not to look past them in fear of what he would not see. He might not have gotten Dick's face right, and how awful would that have been of him? What sort of father was he, anyway? One who was not willing to look at his son's face in fear of consulting the results of his own actions._

_Wretched, wretched, wretched, unfit to have been a father. He should never have even gotten it into his head that becoming a superhero protector of Gotham was a good idea, much less take on a protégé. He should have stayed in his mansion with his butler and left the crime to the police like a good little boy. His fault. His fault._

_If he looked at Dick, he knew his face wouldn't be right. He could never be anything other than perfect._

_"...Please," Bruce whispered hoarsely at Robin's blank lenses. “Let me see you. When I wake up..." he trailed off, feeling his throat tighten around his words. "...I want to see your eyes. When you wake up as well."_

_He didn't' see what Robin did. He did see the tips of small fingers raise to meet the shiny black edges of the mask, though-_

Bruce woke up, but he kept his eyes closed. For some reason, instead of the usual deep black that came from closed eyes, all he could see was white.

He turned over and went back to sleep.

 

\---

 

After the funeral for Dick Grayson as a civilian had concluded, the League was in the clear to hold an official ceremony in honour of the young heroes. It was to be held the weekend of the week Dick's funeral had been, in the Watchtower, which had been under construction since early in the year, adding an entire new room. The ceremony would be held in the recently completed room; a shrine to recognise and commend the young heroes who had sacrificed themselves to save the entire League.

The day of the ceremony passed like a blur for Bruce, and before he knew it, he was standing back in front of the zeta-tubes, waiting to access the Watchtower once again. The whole League was required to go by order of Superman, not that any of them would have not gone if it hadn't been. He stared at the glowing archway. The last time he was there for longer than a few minutes...

He steeled himself. No time for dwelling on the past. The present required his attention.

He stepped through the light and felt the familiar discomfort of being broken down into trillions of molecules and shot thousands of kilometres through space. He reformed, and stepped out into the fluorescent lights of the Watchtower.

By the time he arrived in the newly built area, every other Leaguer was already there, chatting with each other quietly. The gathering lacked the usual light-hearted feeling League meetings often brought, the atmosphere instead tense and heavy.

The centre of the room held eight sheet-covered structures, and Bruce felt sick looking at them.

Nobody wanted to waste time, so as soon as the last few stragglers made their way to the gathering, Superman begun.

"We are gathered here," He began, taking a shaky breath. "To honour those who were lost in the battle against Vandal Savage on New Year’s Eve last year."

Somebody in the crowd let out a short sob.

"These young heroes, who were more heroic than we could ever be..."

Bruce listened numbly as Superman spoke highly, very highly, of the single most important group of teenagers to have ever existed. No matter how highly he spoke of them however, he could not do them justice.

Like Dick Grayson's funeral, the Team's ceremony (funeral) had practically every Leaguer get up to say their part. The Flash started sobbing hysterically on the podium and had to be led gently down by Wonder Woman. From what he could see, the others were not far behind. Bruce had not been asked to prepare a speech, so he suspected the others had been informed of his recent actions. He could not find it in himself to feel... anything, at that. It was like some fire he had before had just... gone. Gone out.

He felt like he was the one who was dead.

After the last speaker had finished, the silence was heavy and filled with such a deep hurt that radiated from everyone present in the room that Bruce felt choked. He watched as Superman took the podium again, and various Leaguers took spots standing behind the eight sheets.

"It is now my honour," Began Superman, "to present these eight holograms, erected in memory of those who performed better than we could have ever hoped in a situation that seemed hopeless. We, as the Justice League and as a planet, will be in their debt for as long as the universe will continue to expand- If you please," He waved at the Leaguers who had positioned themselves behind the sheets. Each of them grabbed one and pulled, and suddenly Bruce was faced with lifelike, towering personifications of his horrible, horrible mistakes.

Holograms were... holograms were memorials. Memorials were meant for the fallen, and as he stared at them, the fallen were all he could see.

Dick's grinning and confident face stared into nothingness, flickering occasionally.

"Now," continued Superman, choking a little. "Please, take part in a minute of silence to remember the fallen."

It was the worst minute of Bruce's life.

Once it was over, Superman took another deep breath.

"And finally," he said, voice wavering slightly. "I have come to the executive decision to suspend the Justice League until further notice."

 

\---

 

_Bruce stared miserably at his fingers. His eyes felt sore and his throat ached, but he barely felt this as he looked up once again. It never stopped._

_He was thrown for a loop as his eyes caught on the familiar formation of Young Justice. Instead of their classic hero outfits he had seen them in up until this point, all of them were dressed in civilian clothes, looking very casual, like any other group of teenage friends. They were chatting with each other happily, and didn't even seem to take notice of Bruce as he stumbled over to them._

_He looked them over, the deep emptiness in his chest that had become familiar as of late eating at him slowly. They held themselves so... confidently. Happily. They didn't know-_

_They didn't know. They didn't know how horribly unlucky they were to have been associated with such a group of horrible, despicable, unforgivable monsters like the Justice League._

_Nobody noticed when he inched even closer. He could see Dick more clearly now, but,_

_But it was wrong, his face still wasn't quite the right shape, his skin was probably too dark, or was it too light? He never had his hair styled like that unless it was for an occasion, right? Bruce gripped his head and let out a strangled sound._

_Dick looked up at that, of course. Kid Flash, (Wally at the moment) who Dick had been talking to, remained unfazed, and instead turned to join in with Artemis and Kaldur, teasingly placing his head on Artemis' shoulder._

_\--wait wait, that didn't make sense either, Artemis and Wally had hated each other, right? but they quite obviously didn't despite how they acted, and he didn't know if they had gotten together yet, he never did really keep up with Dick and his friends beyond hero work--_

_Dick smiled at him. Bruce stared him in the eyes, blue as the ocean. But his face, his face, it wasn't clear. Even with a smile lighting it up, he still couldn't tell what it was lighting up, did it crinkle his eyes, how far did it stretch..._

_Bruce focused on the eyes. Those, he felt confident were accurate. He could stare into them forever._

_But-_

_But he didn't deserve to, he realised with a start. He didn't deserve to, Dick was dead and it was his fault._

_He stared into Dick's eyes. He could see them._

_But he wasn't awake._

_And neither was Dick._

_And then he was alone, the white void swallowing him whole._

_\---_

A man, some would say in his early thirties, others would say early to mid-twenties because of how in-shape he looked, stood at the gates to his family's graveyard. A graveyard that held generations upon generations of this man's family. Including three of the four people he had ever truly loved, had ever called his family.

The man creaked open the gate, a bit of snow falling off the top as it moved. He trudged inside and closed it neatly behind him.

A path had been neatly cleared in the snowy ground, leading up past old and weather-worn slabs of stone that held the names of great-great-great grandparents and aunts and uncles long gone. He didn't care about those however, and spared them no glance as he trudged past.

It wasn't long before he came to a neat set of six slabs, all lined up smartly next to each other. These looked out of place in the family graveyard; they were not only six in a row, the only set with that many, but the inscriptions held a different surname to the rest in the graveyard.

 

_Grayson._

The man stared at them. Six graves, all in a row, six wonderful people underneath the slabs of stone who would never, ever do anything again.

It was the second of these graves the man focused on, however. He remembered a request for the spot between the first and third to be left open, for far in the future. Turns out the future wasn't so far, actually.

He remembered the coffin being so small. It had been beautiful, the most expensive but modest money could buy, something not too fancy but fitting for the most important thing in the universe. It was so small. He remembered a suit having been picked out, size child, clean and perfect and stiff with newness. He remembered the still face in the small coffin and the small suit and

 

And

 

...

 

The man wondered whether the worms and bugs had gotten to the small skull yet.

 

...

 

He knelt.

A bunch of flowers, lots of different types, all of bright colours, bright, bright like how his world had once been. Not anymore though.

 

His fault.

 

"Dick," Said the man.

A cold wind blew a petal off of a flower.

 

He wouldn't wake up.

 

"I never should have come near you," The man said, tone dead. "Maybe you'd be still here."

The man leant over, laying his head on the frozen ground underneath the stone, next to the flowers.

 

He stayed there until one side of his face was completely numb, and the other was covered in a thin film of frozen ice, tracks leading down from his eyes. His eyes were burning hot.

The rest of his body felt burning hot.

He let out a sniff.

 

...

**Author's Note:**

> This was partially inspired by a documentary I watched on soldiers who fought in the Vietnam War. One of them recounted a recurring dream he had where his friends who had been killed in the war were lined up in front of him, and he would say,  
> "Don't worry, it's just a dream, when I wake up, you'll wake up too,"  
> I thought that was really... a mixture of things, and wanted to use it.  
> Thanks for reading :D


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